The Chelsie Prompt Corner
by Kissman
Summary: Responses to chelsie anon prompts.
1. April 2014 Prompt

**Elsie watched out the backdoor as the last of the hallboys trot up the drive towards the village. She's been sending her "chicks" home for Mothering Sunday for years, she should be used to it by now. Taking a deep breath &amp; pulling her shawl tighter against the cold March wind blowing through the courtyard, she turned &amp; closed the door firmly behind her. What happens next?**

**I cut a line and a word from the prompt to suit my purposes, please forgive me. For a happy ending, stop reading at the break. For angst-y self-torture, read the whole thing. This story was inspired by NothingMadeMeHappen's own response to the above prompt – check out her collection 'That Look' if you haven't already.**

* * *

She shouldn't stay out in the cold too long, she was sure to catch a chill. Spring had sprung, but the air still had a bite to it. She turned towards the house when the sound of little feet barreling down the stone pavement made her pause.

"Mama!" A little dark haired blur collided with her leg, hugging it tightly.

"Grace!" she laughed, bending over. "What's this?"

Grace extracted herself from her mother's leg. At six, ('almost seven', she would declare proudly to anyone who would listen) she was a rather energetic child, far too precocious for her own good.

"Mama, I brought you a present," she said cheerfully, holding out a small bouquet of flowers.

"I see," said Elsie, taking the flowers from the girl. All from the gardens of Downton it would seem. "And I assume you _asked_ Mr. Wellington about taking flowers from the garden."

"Yes," said Grace happily. "He helped me pick them."

"They're beautiful," Elsie said warmly. "And where is your brother and your sister?"

Grace shrugged. "They're not here. Guess that means I love you best."

"No! Grace, no fair!" Around the corner came Charlotte, dragging her baby brother Liam by the hand. Charlotte was about a head taller than Grace, and looking more like Elsie every day if Charles was to be believed.

"You ran ahead," Charlotte scowled at her little sister.

"Yeah, they're from _all_ of us," insisted Liam, crossing his arms defiantly.

"Thank you to all of you then," Elsie said, looking pointedly at Grace. The little girl mumbled her apology into her mother's skirt. Elsie handed the little bouquet to Charlotte for safekeeping.

"That's alright, pet," she said, stroking Grace's head. She opened her arms so that Liam and Charlotte might have a proper hug. She noticed the boy shiver as he let go of her. "It's cold out here, why don't we all go inside an have some tea then, hmm?"

"Yes, please!" chorused the three of them, united again. Elsie laughed and lifted Liam into her arms, tickling him so that he might forget for a moment about how chilly it was. The little boy squealed in delight and buried his face in his mother's neck.

"Come on then," Elsie urged the girls, and together they trudged back into the house.

Sitting at the table in the servant's hall was particularly nice in the absence of the rest of the staff. The house was empty, save for them, Charles and Mrs. Patmore.

"Is Papa going to have tea too, Mama?" Liam wanted to know, squirming in his seat.

"Maybe later, pet. Papa is very busy."

"He's a butler," Charlotte reminded her brother with a rather self important air, "they're often too busy for tea."

Elsie rolled her eyes at her oldest daughter, but said nothing. 'Tea' for the children was little more than warm milk with a splash of tea in it, courtesy of Mrs. Patmore. The cook spoiled them rotten, always adding an extra lump of sugar for them when 'Mama wasn't looking.' Mrs. Patmore brought out the tea tray with a great smile and set it triumphantly on the table in front of Elsie.

"Tea fit for a Queen," she declared, with a wink to the housekeeper.

"Mama isn't the Queen," Liam laughed, as Mrs. Patmore tweaked his nose.

"Mama could be a Queen," said Grace, already reaching for a sandwich.

"Grace," chided Elsie, blocking her daughter's hand. "What do we say first?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore," said Grace sweetly. Her siblings followed suit.

"You're welcome," smiled the cook. The talk of Queens was forgotten as the children dived into their snack.

"Slow down, Liam, you'll give yourself a stomach ache," said Elsie as the boy tried to put an entire cucumber sandwich in his mouth. She reached over and sliced another sandwich for him in two. "Take smaller bites, dear."

Liam nodded and Elsie stifled a laugh. The boy looked like a chipmunk. "Yes, Mama," he managed, after the world's largest swallow.

Mrs. Patmore brought Elsie a cup of proper tea along with one for herself, which Elsie acknowledged gratefully with a nod of her head. The tea in the pot for the little ones was hopelessly weak, but they enjoyed it. Elsie sipped gratefully letting the tea, and the sight of her children all finally getting along warm her inside and out.

She heard footsteps in the corridor and Charlotte's face lit up. "Papa!" she exclaimed. "Did you come for tea?"

Elsie turned and stood to greet her husband. He wrapped his arm around her waist affectionately, pulling her close to him. The staff wasn't there, save Mrs. Patmore, the level of restraint they usually exhibited in the servant's hall wasn't necessary. "Not today," he rumbled, "you ought to finish up, it's almost time for bed."

Grace and Charlotte swallowed the last of their tea, but Liam was already out of his chair, pulling on his father's pant leg. "Papa, can I sleep with you and Mama tonight?"

"How about you stay for a cuddle and then sleep in your own bed?" suggested Charles, picking his son up. "Oof! You're heavy!"

"I am not!" pouted Liam. "I want to cuddle."

"A cuddle it is then, lad," said Charles, smiling at his wife.

"Mama?" asked Charlotte nervously, "May I cuddle too?" At ten years old she worried that she was too old for cuddling in her parents bed, but Elsie smiled reassuringly at her.

"I don't see why not," said Elsie, "Put the dishes in the kitchen and we'll go upstairs."

Grace and Charlotte hurried to clear away the dishes and Charles transferred the boy to his wife's arms. He had rounds to see to first, so he gave her the briefest of kisses before going upstairs.

The children were well versed in their bedtime routines, often doing them mostly without the watchful eye of either of their parents these days. Charlotte was usually responsible for making sure her siblings washed their faces and got into their pajamas, a task she took very seriously. Elsie sat on the bed in her nightgown, brushing out her hair and enjoying a few moments of silence before her bedroom was invaded by a parade of little faces. She braided it smartly, and twisted a ribbon to secure it just before Charlotte appeared at the door, holding out a hairbrush with a pleading look on her face.

"Come here," Elsie sighed. Charlotte could do this for herself, but secretly Elsie adored helping her with it. Charlotte beamed and skipped over to the bed, turning so her mother might brush out the tangled knot of curls.

Elsie hummed snippets of an old lullaby, the words mostly forgotten, as she pulled the brush through. Charlotte stayed quiet, even when it pulled painfully, knowing complaining would not garner her any sympathy. Grace marched in and settled herself in her favourite place at the foot of the bed, just as Elsie finished up Charlottes braid. Liam was not far behind, burrowing under the covers until he was just a lump in the bedclothes, albeit one shaking with giggles.

Elsie tried half heartedly to coax her son out from under the covers, knowing he would come eventually on his own. Charles, who had slipped silently into the room, distracted her from her efforts.

"Elsie, my love," he said gently, leaning over to kiss her head.

"Charles," she said happily. "Haven't they grown so big?" It had been a little while since they'd tried to fit all of them together in their bed, and they grew so fast. Charlotte cuddled closer to her mother, to make room for Charles on the other side.

"Yes, my dear," said Charles, slipping under the covers and holding them up so that Liam might scramble out. "Now, I think it's time for bed."

The youngest Carson elected to plunk himself down on his father's chest, to which Charles laughed and shifted him over. "Good night, Papa," the boy murmured sleepily.

"Good night, laddie." returned Charles, ruffling Liam's hair. Elsie smiled at the pair of them. Like two peas in a pod, she thought. Charles turned towards his wife. "Good night, love," he said, kissing her sweetly on the forehead. She sighed, and snuggled deeper under the covers, drifting off into a dreamless happy sleep.

* * *

The End. (if you wish)

* * *

He knew today was bound to set her off. If he'd had his way she wouldn't have seen the staff off at all, but she was determined to. At least it was only he and Mrs. Patmore in the house, the fewer people that saw this the better. When he found her sitting on her chair, gazing off into nothing, lips twitching without saying words he almost wanted to leave her there and let her have it. He could only break her heart sooner to pull her out of it, if that were even possible. She never did seem to come to her senses until she was good and ready.

Still, it wouldn't do for her to be like this when the staff came back.

"Elsie, my love," he said gently, taking her hands in his.

"Charles," she said happily, "haven't they grown so big?"

"Yes, my dear. Now, I think it's time for bed."

He never denied them anymore. It only upset her, and did nothing to stop them from appearing. She would be angry enough with herself when she realized, there was no point in him adding to that.

He led her upstairs to their room and tucked her carefully into bed. With any luck she would awaken in time for tea. He checked his pocket watch. Yes, tea was probably right. He drew the curtains, darkening the room and went to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Good night, love," he whispered.

She smiled contentedly and he wished, just for a moment, that he could see what she saw. But of course, thank goodness he didn't, and he felt guilty for even having the thought. She never wanted it to happen, no one could possibly. He would spend all evening consoling her once she started to come out of it. The loss of control made her frustrated and angry, enough to smother the grief of losing, yet again, what had never been hers.

_Theirs_, he thought bitterly to himself as he settled into the chair to wait. _What had never been theirs._

**The End. (For Real)**


	2. October 2014 Prompt

**"****Mrs. Hughes?" He found her standing in the darkness, staring out as the rain lashed against the library windows. He worried, she had been winding herself tighter and tighter over the past week or so, ever since that first visit from Sergeant Willis. Stepping up behind her, careful to keep his voice low and calm, "I'm on your side…" His hand hovered near her shoulder, almost afraid to touch her for fear she would shatter into a thousand pieces at his feet. What happens next?**

He was almost too afraid to touch her, but not quite. His hand finally graced her shoulder, warm, gentle, and he hoped comforting. She didn't crumble, as he'd feared. She stood ever solid, not turning her gaze from the library window.

"I know," she said simply. He was on her side, even if they were at odds more and more lately. And she didn't like it any more than he did. How many lies had she told him over the past few months? She didn't dare count. But the guilt from it settled over her like layer upon layer of dust. She twisted her hands together and stared out at the rain. She was made unclean with all her lying, but what else could she do? They were not her secrets and yet they all became her burden. Heavier and heavier. Edith. Anna. Mr. Bates. Pictures, train tickets, a witness. She herself didn't know what to think anymore, or what to do. A single pillar cannot keep a great house from falling down.

"Mrs. Hughes?" he asked again, unwilling to leave her in such a state. She finally turned towards him, her eyes cast down at his shoes. Perhaps he was the biggest secret of all. Lying to him made her feel impossibly guilty after the fact. She found herself loving him in the cracks of their friendship. There were little glimpses if you chose to look for them. The easy way they'd held hands at the beach. In their peaceful evenings over a glass of sherry when they weren't fighting, or working themselves half to death. They would have to be daft not to see it by now, and perhaps they were. His words had far more power over her than they should. He could her hurt her so easily now, and she knew it was all because she let him. His disappointment in her cut so deep, when years ago it would have been water off a duck's back. That was her fault. That was the price you paid when you let someone in to your heart. Someone who very well may not love you back.

She gave her head a little shake, still unable to look at him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson. I was just…away."

"I wish you'd tell me what was bothering you so."

"I don't think you would, Mr. Carson."

He opened his mouth to reply, but she quickly interrupted. "And besides, I can't and that's all there is to it."

"Try," he urged her, his hand still lingering on her shoulder. "Please?"

She looked up at him, his eyes so warm and inviting. It made her breath catch and she immediately berated herself internally for it. He watched the emotions play across her face with concern.

"In any words you can manage," he added. He was never going to get the particulars on anything she was deliberately holding back. But he had to let her know that he was on her side, that he never meant to hurt her, even though he knew he had. When had his words become so sharp? She cut through his defenses so easily, and yet he found himself to be gruff, irritable, even unfeeling towards her at times.

Her voice was very quiet, but very steady. "The house is becoming very… stifling."

"I see," he replied evenly.

"I, too, dislike it when we don't agree, Mr. Carson. And I don't like it when we are not honest with each other."

"Have you been dishonest with me, Mrs. Hughes?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And do you believe I've been dishonest with you?"

She blinked in surprise, that he hadn't integrated her further on her own dishonestly with him. "I wouldn't know," she supposed.

"I think I have," he confessed.

"Oh?"

"Would you like me to be honest with you, Mrs. Hughes?" he asked, standing up straighter.

She hesitated for a moment. She didn't think she could bare a single unhappy word out of him, or god forbid yet another secret. But her caregiving instincts took over yet again. "Yes, I would like you to be honest with me, Mr. Carson."

"Very well." He put his hands on both her shoulders now and leaned over, placing a very gentle, lingering kiss on her lips.

"I love you," he murmured. "I don't know what could be more honest than telling you, and it was starting to feel dishonest to keep it from you."

He studied her face, hoping for a positive reaction. To his surprise she started to tear up. "Elsie…"

Her voice cracked. "I have been so very dishonest with you, Charles. About so many things."

"It doesn't matter."

"How can it not?"

"Because if you could have told me the truth, you would have. Never have I know you to be intentionally hurtful or malicious, and I've seen nothing to indicate that's changed."

She nodded, tears starting to slip down her cheeks. Somehow he knew, or perhaps had guessed, precisely what she needed to hear in that moment.

"There is one thing I think I _can_ tell you now," she said decisively.

"Mmm?"

She looked up at him. "I love you, too. More than anything." And then she really did dissolve into tears, at the great weight that lifted from her shoulders. They could just say it. Whatever the consequences were for them down the road didn't matter. They could say it.

He pulled her close to him, enveloping her in a great hug and letting her cry into his chest. He leaned over to whisper softly in her ear.

"There is something incredibly wonderful about you, Elsie Hughes. And you don't have to tell me a thing for me to be certain that it's true."

Her tears slowed, and she turned her head up at him. "Thank you for that."

He simply nodded and bent his head again to kiss her, and she responded by clutching at his lapels and pulling herself even closer. He couldn't kiss away all of her pain. But he was going to do his best to try.

**End. **


End file.
